


A Hard Day for Bellamy

by fine_feathered_fiend



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (no really), Awkward Boners, Awkward Flirting, Doctor Clarke, F/M, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Helpful Clarke, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Octavia is a little shit (but we love her for it), POV Bellamy Blake, Platonic Dick Holding, Plot Twists, Sexual Tension, Sick Bellamy, Sickfic, The Author Regrets Nothing, but it's purely to serve to plot so take it with a grain of salt, but otherwise it's fairly lowkey, embarrassed bellamy, it's really only rated explicit because i spend a good amount of time describing Bellamy's dick, like the awkward boner to end all awkward boners, writing this felt like hanging onto a speeding train by my fingertips and i loved every moment of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fine_feathered_fiend/pseuds/fine_feathered_fiend
Summary: When disaster strikes and Bellamy is bitten by a venomous spider, he's obviously less than thrilled. However, over the next few hours it quickly becomes apparent that things are going to be a little... harder... to deal with than he initially expected.Or, rather:Clarke Griffin would be lying if she said she'd never imagined seeing Bellamy's dick, bare in all it's glory. She just never thought it'd happen under these circumstances.





	1. Of Bushes and Beasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, guys, this fic has essentially been my pet project for so so long now, I can't believe I'm actually posting it! So, without further preamble, here's "The Dick Fic" (as affectionally dubbed by myself and literally everyone who beta'd/preread this fic for me)! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

“Stay sharp--” Bellamy called over his shoulder, ax balanced carefully in his grasp-- “I know that we’re hunting but keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual. Grounder traps. Predators. You can’t let your guard down.”

“That’s right,” Miller eyed them conspiratorially, “There’s  _ bears  _ in them woods.”

A few of the delinquents laughed behind them and Bellamy rolled his eyes. “No, but there are panthers.”

“Yeah, panthers for us to catch!” A boy said excitedly. 

Another boy scoffed. “As if you could catch, anything, Miles.” 

“Shut up, Sterling!” 

“Quiet,” Bellamy hissed.  _ If there was any game around us they definitely scared it off.  _

“Sorry, Bellamy.” 

“Yeah, sorry, Bellamy.” 

Miller laughed under his breath. “Still think it was a good idea bringing ‘em?” 

“They have to learn at some point, might as well be now.”

“Yeah but are you  _ sure  _ they’re ready?” 

Before Bellamy could reply, an ax whizzed by his head, landing with a thump in a cluster of bushes. He whipped around to see Miles, empty handed, his jaw hanging wide open. 

“I-- I thought I saw something,” he stammered. 

“ _ So you threw an ax by my head? _ ”

“I’m so freaking sorry, Bellamy, it won’t happen again.” 

“Damn right it won’t happen again because you’re not getting the ax back until you learn how to not be a dipshit and throw your only weapon into a fucking bush,” he said, tossing back a stern look as he climbed through the dense shrubbery. “What if that had been a Grounder, Miles?” 

“I’d kill it?” 

“No, you wouldn’t, because you threw your ax into a fucking bush. Now  _ you  _ don’t have a weapon and the Grounder has  _ your  _ ax.” 

“Oh…” The boy looked genuinely surprised, and a pang of empathy ran through Bellamy.  _ They’re just kids… They shouldn’t have to worry about their survival.  _

He sighed heavily, leaning back on his haunches. “Look, I’ll teach you how to throw an ax some other day. But for the time being, can I trust you to keep your  _ only  _ weapon in your hands?” 

Miles nodded earnestly. “Yes. Definitely.” 

“Good,” Bellamy huffed. “We can’t afford to take a detour every time you feel like randomly throwing something important.” 

A few kids laughed at that, but quieted down when he shot them a pointed look.  _ Little assholes.  _ He climbed forward on his hands and knees, reaching blindly through clumps of bushes.

“I could’ve  _ sworn  _ that I saw something…” 

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Yet here we are…” A wave of triumph rolled through him when his fingers brushed against smooth metal. “Gotcha--” he said, grabbing the handle of the ax in his fist-- “Now, we’ve already wasted enough time,” he called out to the group. “I say we double back and--” a searing pain pierced his forearm-- “ _ Fuck! _ ” he ripped his arm back, dropping the ax in the dirt. 

“You okay?” Miller asked, calling out to him from the other side of the bushes. 

_ What the fuck was that??  _ Bellamy looked at his arm, horrified to find a bright red splotch spreading across his skin with two puncture marks, dead in the center. “I think something just bit me,” he said, holding up his arm.

Miller’s eyebrows raised at the sight. “That doesn’t look good.” 

“Thanks,” Bellamy grumbled, holding his arm to his chest.  _ Fuck, this hurts like a bitch.  _

“What was it?” 

“I dunno,” he sat back in the dirt and leaned sideways, peering at the clump of bushes that had apparently decided to set his arm on fire. He bent in closer, eyes focusing on a blur of movement. 

And then he knew what is was. 

In the darkest shadows of the shrubbery there perched a massive brown spider that made the spindly ones Bellamy would occasionally find on the Ark look like fleas. Its fangs were long, it’s legs were longer, and it’s front limbs were up in the air in a territorial pose that said  _ “I might have already bitten you but I will 110% do it again if you give me the chance.” _

Bellamy swore and scrabbled back on his hands and knees, desperately trying to put some distance between himself and what was probably the spawn of Satan, only to see the thing immediately skewered by Miller’s knife flying through the air. The sharp metal blade pinned the gigantic creature to the dirt with a sickening crunch, and it’s legs fell still. 

“Did I get it?” Miller said from behind him. 

Bellamy rubbed a hand over his face and let out a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah you got it. Thanks, Miller.” 

Miller bent down on his haunches for a moment, and after deciding that the spider was sufficiently dead, reached into the bush and wrenched the knife from its corpse. “Gross,” he pulled a face, wiping the blade on his pants. “Anyway, are you okay?” 

"I think so?" Bellamy said, pushing himself to a stand, only to immediately keel sideways and nearly fall in a bush. 

"Woah-- hey!" Miller jumped forward, catching him at the last second. "Yeah, that can't be good. I'm gonna take you back to camp, okay Bellamy?" 

He nodded slowly, not even bothering to fight Miller's decision. His head pulsed and his arm felt like it was on fire. "Monroe, you're in charge while we're gone," Bellamy drowsily ordered the small group of delinquents that swam in front of his eyes like a colorful soup. "Try to actually catch something, okay?" 

"Will do," she nodded shortly, adjusting a makeshift bow in her hands. "Get back safe."

"Thanks, Monroe," Miller called from behind Bellamy, pushing him forward gently with a hand to his back. It felt a little weird, but Bellamy was grateful for the guidance. Things were very quickly starting to blur together, making it hard enough to distinguish up from down, much less figure out the way back to camp. "Be back before dark, we don't need anyone else getting hurt."

"We will. Better take him back, he's not looking too good." Bellamy liked Monroe. She was young, but a good soldier. It pained him that she had to fill such large shoes, but it didn't change the fact that she was good at it _. I should tell Clarke about Monroe when we get back. That way if I die from this, Miller can be the new me and Monroe can be the new Miller. _

"Yeah, I know," Miller said quietly, voice tinged with more than a little concern. 

_ Wait, but who would be the new Monroe?  _ Bellamy looked dazedly at the delinquents, heart sinking a little when no one jumped out at him as particularly exceptional.  _ Maybe Sterling? _ The boy was a little older than the rest of the kids in the group, and seemed like he was in relatively good shape. It was a fairly logical assumption that he'd make a decent replacement Monroe, right?

Bellamy stared at him pointedly for a moment, only to see him elbow Miles in the ribs and scoff, "Nice going, dipshit. Clarke's gonna kill you when she finds out you killed Bellamy."

"If Octavia doesn't get to you first!" another kid called out from the back of the group, causing nervous laughter to bubble up among the teenagers. 

Miles turned sickly pale, and for a moment he looked nearly as bad as Bellamy felt. "I'm so sorry, it was an accident-- I  _ swear-- _ " he stammered. 

"I'm not gonna die," Bellamy growled at the group, pleasantly surprised with the level of intimidation he managed to stir up despite feeling like his arm was about to fall off. "And if you don't shut up, then  _ I'm _ gonna kill  _ you _ , Sterling. How does that sound?" Sterling was definitely off the list.

“Sounds good,” Sterling answered dumbly, eyes wide. “Sorry, Bellamy.” 

Miller pressed harder against his back, and he shuffled forward a few steps. “Come on, Bellamy. I’m sure they’ll be fine without you harassing them.” 

“But they’re all so stupid, Miller,” he protested, “I mean did you see that? What the fuck was that?” 

“I know,” he reassured. “I know. They’re all dumbasses. Let’s go back to camp, okay?” 

“Fine,” Bellamy grumbled. “But only because all the trees look the same. Also the ground is kind of red.” 

Miller swore under his breath and they walked faster. 

The forest swam past Bellamy’s eyes and his arm burned. 

_ This can’t be good. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: 
> 
> \- I based the spider in this chapter off of the Brazilian Wandering Spider, which is a _real life spider_ that lives in Brazil. It is legitimately terrifying and will probably haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.


	2. Silver Linings

By the time they walked up the metal ramp of the dropship and shuffled through the parachute-fabric entrance, Bellamy was barely on his feet. Partially because whatever hellish venom the spider had injected into him made the world twist and spin like some sort of nightmarish tornado, but mostly because he was about 0.2 seconds away from falling to his knees and throwing up everything he’d eaten in the last year. And he’d been  _ trying  _ to communicate that to Miller for the past ten or so minutes, but so far he hadn’t quite gotten the message. 

“Hey-- hey--” he mumbled, patting Miller on the chest limply. His head felt like it was pounding to a grounder drumbeat and an acidic pit was rising in his stomach.

“I know buddy,” Miller patted Bellamy on the arm, carrying most of his weight up into the dropship. “You’re gonna be okay, we’re here.” 

_ Goddammit that’s not what I meant. _ “No--” he broke off, coughing roughly, leaning even heavier on Miller’s shoulder.  _ Oh god I’m gonna fucking puke on him.  _

“Clarke--” Miller called out, keeping Bellamy barely upright-- “We need your help!” 

“ _ Bellamy?? _ ” A set of hands came up underneath his other shoulder and dragged him across the room to sit on something firm. “What the hell happened?” 

“Spider bite,” Miller answered for him. 

Clarke held him upright with a hand on either shoulder. “Hey, Bellamy-- look at me--” she said frantically. 

He squinted through the fog and met a pair of bright blue eyes, creased in concern. “Clarke--” he croaked, breaking off in gag.  _ Oh fuck now I’m gonna puke on Clarke.  _

“Breathe-- deep breaths--” she ordered, holding a hand to his chest. “You need to breathe Bellamy.”

_ I can breathe, I’m just--  _ “I’m gonna puke--” he managed to choke out, dry heaving on the last word. 

“Oh shit--” Miller jumped forward, pushing something that was hopefully a bucket into his hands, because not a second later he was completely emptying the contents of his stomach into it. He retched violently, not even bothering to fight the process. A gentle hand rubbed along his back, which was a little weird, but Bellamy didn’t mind. This was shitty. The hand made it a little better. 

Finally he sat back, setting the bucket on the ground and breathing heavily. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he groaned. “Okay, I feel a lot better now.” And he did. His head still hurt like a bitch and he was pretty sure that his arm was literally on fire, but he could see again, so that was an improvement. 

“You sure about that?” Clarke gave a worried smile, squeezing his shoulder. “You look pretty shitty.” 

“I feel pretty shitty,” he conceded. “But yeah, I think puking helped.”

“It usually does. Thanks for bringing him here, Miller.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” Miller nodded curtly. “Get better, okay?” He pointed at Bellamy and pulled a jokingly serious expression, although he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t all in jest. 

“You got it,” he answered simply.  _ I’m still gonna tell Clarke about Monroe.  _

Clarke held up a hand in a half-hearted wave as he walked out the door, then plopped down on the stool in front of Bellamy. “Alright, so it was a spider bite?” 

“Yup--” he said, holding up his forearm for Clarke to see-- “I was bitten by a giant ass spider that I’m pretty sure came directly from hell to kill me.” 

“As if you’re special enough to get hell-spiders,” Clarke laughed, taking his arm in her hands. “This looks pretty bad. Is it painful?” she asked, prodding gently at the inflamed red splotch that had spread up towards his elbow. 

“Yeah--” he hissed through his teeth-- “It’s really painful.” 

“Sorry--” she pulled her hand away from the spot. 

“It’s fine,” he said as she turned his arm over in her lap, palm facing the air, and placed a thumb over the vein in his wrist. Her brow creased slightly, and she bit her lip, deep in thought. For the first time since he was bitten, Bellamy wasn’t quite sure if he could breathe. 

“Your pulse is elevated,” she said quietly, dropping his hand back in his lap. Before he could protest, she pressed the back of her hand to his temple. 

Her touch was so cool that he nearly moaned in relief.  _ She’s so close.  _ His eyes fluttered shut and he shuffled in his seat for a moment, trying to act casual. 

“How long ago were you bitten?” she asked softly. 

“I don’t know,” he shook his head slightly, eyes still closed. He wracked his brain for any useful information, but the entire walk back was nothing but a blur. “I think it was about a half hour ago.” 

“Are you having any heart palpitations?” 

“No.”  _ Thank god.  _

“Any anaphylaxis? Difficulties breathing?”

He opened his eyes slightly and shot her a withering look. “I know what anaphylaxis is. And no, I haven’t had any of that.”

“Well that’s good,” she said, the corner of her lips ticking upwards slightly, and tapped him on the side of the cheek. 

He couldn’t help but return her smile. “Yeah.” 

For a moment her smile grew into something more genuine, before falling back under a mask of seriousness and concern. “Anyway,” she began, shaking her head slightly. “You’re clearly having some nausea--” she tapped the bucket with her foot-- “and pain around the bite. Are you experiencing any other symptoms?”

“Oh, yeah--” he shook his head briefly, trying to clear his thoughts. All he did was scramble his brains even further. “I, uh… I have a headache?”

“Alright, so we’re gonna add confusion to the list too.”

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“I’m just making an accurate diagnosis, Bellamy,” she said, pushing herself to a stand. “Well, I have good news and bad news.”

Bellamy’s heart sank. “Bad news first.” 

Her eyebrows raised slightly at his reaction, but she carried on. “We don’t have any antivenin, so there’s really nothing I can do for you.” 

_ Great, I’m totally dying. Death by spider bite. What the fuck.  _

“I’m sorry,” she said, touching his shoulder sympathetically. 

“I think Monroe would be a good second-in-command,” he blurted out suddenly. 

Clarke looked at him strangely for a moment, brow furrowed. “I thought Miller was second-in-command?”

“Well obviously he is, but he’s going to have to take my place and then-- then I was thinking: ‘who the fuck is gonna replace Miller?’ And I think Monroe would be a good choice,” he rambled quickly, the words falling out of him like dominos off a card table. “I can’t think of a replacement-Monroe-- not Sterling, he’s an asshole-- but I’m sure you’ll--” 

“Bellamy--” Clarke stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“What.”

“You’re not dying,” she said. And if there was a glimmer of amusement twinkling in her eyes, then Bellamy wasn’t happy about it. 

“...I know that,” he said quietly, looking at his hands clasped between his knees.  _ Okay maybe I’m having a little bit of confusion. Just a little.  _

“I’m sure.” She patted him on the shoulder kindly. “But yeah, that’s the good news: you’re not going to die. If you haven’t had any symptoms of respiratory or heart failure by now, then you’re in the clear.”

“Great, my one consolation is that I’m not dying,” he grumbled under his breath. 

“Hey--” she started, dropping down to his level and staring at him with an intensity that nearly flattened him-- “I know this isn’t ideal but at this point? We have to take any good thing we can and hold onto it. And if you’re asking me, you living is a very good thing, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, quietly. Genuinely. He couldn’t be anything else with Clarke. He couldn’t even tear his eyes away from her intense gaze. 

She gave him a sad little smile, and Bellamy regretted the joke, no matter how much he meant it. He didn’t like seeing her sad. “Alright,” she patted his knee and cleared her throat. “So you can either stay here in the dropship with me, or you can go back to your tent and I’ll check on you every few hours to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit or something. My supervision is not optional, but where you stay is up to you.” 

He nearly laughed.  _ Typical Clarke.  _ “I’ll stay in my tent, Warden,” he said with a slight smirk, pretending that he didn’t want to spend any more time around his co-leader than necessary. Which was obviously a giant lie. Any day spent with Clarke? That was immediately a good day. 

She rolled her eyes at the new nickname and huffed. “Fine, but I’m still going to be checking on you. And don’t even  _ think  _ about sneaking out of your tent,” she said, poking him in the chest with a finger. 

“Don’t think I could if I tried,” he admitted. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, looking over his shoulder out the dropship. “Do you need help to your tent? Because I can--”

“Nope--” he said, standing up immediately to prove his point. Which nearly sent him to the floor, but he stood his ground stubbornly, looming over Clarke in a gesture that was probably more reminiscent of a tree that was about to fall than a healthy somewhat-adult. “I’m good.”

Fire danced playfully behind her eyes for just a moment and she raked her gaze over his body so visibly that he could almost feel it. “You sure you don’t need a helping hand?” she smirked dangerously, crossing her arms across her chest that did more than enough in her favor. 

Bellamy nearly fell to his knees from that alone. But instead he held firm to the small amount of strength (and dignity) he had left, leaned in closer, and whispered lowly: “You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that, Princess.” He added the nickname again for one last jab, taking a small victory in the annoyance crossing her face.  

With that he turned and strode out of the dropship, desperately willing his legs to remain steady beneath him. And just this once, it seemed like someone was on his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact:
> 
> \- Apparently the term really _is_ antivenin, not antivenom, which threw me for a giant loop when I first wrote this chapter


	3. Between a Pillow and a Hard Place

Fortunately, his tent wasn’t especially far from the dropship, which really made the whole “I don’t need help” facade a lot easier to uphold. Because truthfully? Bellamy was far from okay. His head wouldn’t stop throbbing, his stomach was a writhing pit of fiery snakes, and his arm felt like someone was actively skewering it with a white hot poker. 

Still, he was grateful that when his legs finally  _ did  _ buckle, they dropped him onto his pallet, instead of ass over head in the dirt.  _ Close enough.  _

He groaned miserably, rolling the rest of the way onto his tangle of blankets, and curled limply in the fetal position. His face was pressed firmly against his pallet and his seemingly-decaying arm rested carefully out in front of him.  

_ I fucking hate the ground.  _

He laid there for a while, neither asleep nor entirely awake, simply floating along in a false-dream state caused by whatever venomous cocktail had been shot into his veins. It was far from pleasant. An oppressive fog was once again descending over his senses, the associated nausea not far behind. And the overwhelming dizziness? The closest thing he could compare it to was the feeling he’d get when he used to pick Octavia up when she was a toddler and spin in circles until neither of them could walk straight. They’d just lay on the floor, staring up at the metal ceiling of their quarters, and laugh until their eyes finally uncrossed. That’s vaguely how Bellamy felt now, only he was far from laughing and still not entirely convinced that he wasn’t about to die.  _ That would be my luck.  _

“Hey big brother,” a voice called out of the haze. “I heard you lost a fight with a bug?”

“A spider,” Bellamy corrected drowsily, letting his eyes crack open slightly to see Octavia standing across his tent. “And yeah, I definitely lost.”

“Sucks,” she said, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his pallet, setting a bucket down next to him. “Clarke told me to bring you that. She said you puked your guts up or something?”

He eyed the bucked warily. “Yeah.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Don't worry, Clarke made me clean the stupid thing out. Gross-- by the way.”

“Oh please,” Bellamy huffed, propping himself up with an elbow. “Don't even get me  _ started _ on how many times I've had to clean up your puke.”

“Seriously, Bell? I was a  _ baby. _ ”

“Not for all of it! You puked in our bed once when you were five and mom was out or something so  _ I  _ had to clean it up.”

“Nice,” Octavia grinned cheekily. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh definitely--” he teased, throwing a sock at her head-- “ _ so  _ much fun.”

“Hey!” she laughed, batting it away with a hand. She put a hand on her chest dramatically and batted her eyelashes. “Well at least  _ I  _ was five when I did that, and not twenty-three.”

“What, is there an age limit on puking now?”  _ Leave it to O to make everything a contest.  _

“No, I'm just saying that  _ maybe  _ some of us have better immune systems than others, which makes us inherently better people,” she said innocently, clasping her hands in her lap. A fire danced behind her eyes that stirred up a special feeling of affection in Bellamy’s chest reserved just for Octavia. 

Still, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Okay first of all: that's a bullshit argument and you know it. Also, this?” He held up his raw forearm, trying not to wince at the stabbing pain spiking through it. “Spider bite. Not an immune system thing. You'd be out on your ass too, if not worse since you're smaller than me.” It distantly occurred to him that one of the younger delinquents wouldn't fare nearly as well as he was.  _ Thank god I’m the one who got bit.  _

Octavia paused for a moment, contemplating his explanation, then smirked blithely. “Nah, I'm pretty sure I'd be okay. I'm probably immune or something. Hey-- what if growing up under the floor made me immune to spider bites?” 

A slow panic rose in Bellamy’s stomach. Or maybe it was nausea? He couldn't tell anymore. “I'm serious, O. That thing could kill you!”

“So what do you want me to do, stay away from spiders for the rest of my life? Because we live in the freaking woods, Bell, I'm pretty sure that's impossible.”

“I don't know,” he squeezed the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “Maybe avoid the giant ones?”

“Well there go  _ my  _ plans for tonight.”

“O, I swear to god I'm not--” he cut off abruptly, lurching sideways and retching over the side of his pallet. 

“Shit--” Octavia shoved the bucket underneath him-- “Are you okay??”

“Yeah--” Bellamy choked around the bile rising in his throat. “I'm… I’m fine… I just--” he grabbed the bucket suddenly and vomited so forcefully that he felt like his lungs would rip out of his chest, hacking and choking until all that came up was thick, burning, bright orange stomach acid. 

“Hey, it's okay,” Octavia urged, rubbing his shoulder. “You're gonna be okay, Bell.”

Bellamy set the bucket down in the dirt and groaned. His hands were shaking slightly and he could feel a cold sweat running over his skin. He rested his forehead on the side of his pallet, breathing heavily.  _ Fucking hell.  _

“Well that was impressive.” Octavia ran her fingers through his hair once before coming to rest at the space between his shoulderblades, scratching there comfortingly with her nails. 

Bellamy just huffed once, too worn out to comment. His head hurt. His arm hurt. And now his throat was on fire and a knife was twisting in his stomach. 

She stayed there for a while, rubbing his back while he laid there and breathed. “I'm sorry you're sick, big brother,” she said sympathetically, her hand a warm weight through his t-shirt. 

“Thanks, O,” he mumbled into his blankets. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No, it's okay,” he said, rolling slowly back onto his side. “I'm gonna try to sleep.”

“Okay. Get some rest, Bell. You look like you need it.”

Bellamy grunted tiredly in assent, shoving his face into his arm. The world was spinning on three different axes. His stomach twisted and pinched even though he knew for a  _ fact  _ that it was completely empty. The skin on his forearm was bright and inflamed, save for a sickly yellow tinge that had begun to spread around the bite itself. He was somehow both burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, which infuriated him to no end. 

It had barely been an hour since Bellamy was bitten and he already felt like he was being dissolved by acid from the inside out. 

_ It's going to be a long day…  _

 

* * *

__

Bellamy woke some time later to the afternoon sun shining brightly through the canvas of his tent, sending flashes of pain behind his eyes. The twisting nausea had faded slightly but was replaced by the sensation that his limbs were made of ice cold lead. 

Except for his arm, of course. That was still on fire. 

He groaned and pressed his face further into his blankets, willing the sun to extinguish or fall out of the sky or pretty much just fuck off for the next twenty-four hours.  _ God can’t I just sleep until this is over?  _ He flung his arm out to the side and rolled heavily onto his stomach, only to find his dick hard and pressing uncomfortably into the seam of his pants. 

_Seriously? Now??_ It wasn’t the first time that Bellamy had woken up with an inconvenient hard-on. That was sort of a given when you had a dick: sometimes it acted on its own accord. But that didn’t mean that he had to listen to it. _No, I am not_ _in the fucking mood for this right now._ He rolled back on his side, threw a blanket over his waist (on the off-chance that somebody walked in there), then closed his eyes. 

And successfully  _ didn’t  _ fall asleep. Instead he just laid there, staring at the backs of his eyelids, and pretending that his dick wasn’t trying to cut a hole through the front of his pants. It seemed like a fairly good plan at first ( _ He could outlast his dick, right? _ ) but then ten minutes turned into twenty without any signs of it letting up. After a solid hour, Bellamy finally admitted defeat. 

“Fuck,  _ fine  _ okay you win,” he grumbled under his breath and shucked his pants off around his ankles, kicking them off his feet with what was probably more force than necessary. He slid his boxers down over his ass, careful not to brush his spiderbite wound against his side, and freed his dick from his underwear. It sprang up defiantly, tenting against the blanket covering his waist.  _ God, it’s like we’re fifteen again, isn’t it?  _ He rolled his eyes, then grabbed his dick in his fist, stroking down its length with a firm grip. 

Bellamy closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the pain radiating throughout his body.  _ Come on, think of something good.  _ His hand pumped at a solid rhythm, sending sparks shooting down his spine.  _ Remember those girls you had a threeway with? Roma and… what was her name?  _ He slid his other hand down his abdomen, reaching around and cupping his balls in his palm.  _ Bree! Think of Bree-- she had a nice rack…  _ He fingered them carefully with the pads of his fingers, breath hitching as he picked up the speed.  _ She had a nice mouth too… Did lots of nice things with that mouth…  _ A warm tension started to pool in his lower abdomen. He pumped harder.  _ They-- they liked being on top--  _ He panted hotly, bucking his hips upward into his hand.  _ And I’d-- I’d take them and--  _ He ran his thumb over the tip of his dick and nearly cried out at the thrill that ran through him. Warmth spilled throughout his abdomen and electricity climbed up his neck.  _ Oh god, I’m gonna--  _ He scrabbled his hand at the side of his pallet and grabbed an old shirt.  _ I’m--  _ He came with a strangled groan, throwing his head back against the blankets and biting his lip so hard it nearly bled. Tension flooded from every part of his body and rushed his head with a thrill as he came, hot and shaky, into the t-shirt he held desperately against his dick in a last minute attempt to salvage his sheets. Then, as quickly as it came, the rush spilled away, leaving Bellamy panting and flattened on his pallet. 

He wiped off his dick with the soft fabric of his t-shirt, then wadded it into a tight ball and shoved it to a corner of his bed. A warm fatigue spread throughout his limbs as he slipped his underwear back up over his hips and rolled tiredly onto his side.  _ There, you happy now?  _ His dick was still persistently hard, but that was normal. It usually took several minutes for it to finally get the memo and return to normal, and Bellamy didn’t intend to be awake when it happened. 

He tugged a blanket up over his body and tucked his knees in slightly, feeling pleasantly sedated by the warmth of the summer afternoon and what was beginning to look like a decent afterglow. His eyelids were beyond heavy, and he didn’t even bother trying to fight the sleep that pulled on every inch of his consciousness. 

“When I wake up, you better be gone,” he mumbled to himself as the last tendrils of darkness pulled him under. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact:
> 
> \- The bite of a Brazilian Wandering Spider really _can_ cause erections! Super fun stuff. Totally not terrifying.


	4. WWCD? (What Would Clarke Do?)

Bellamy spent the next hour tossing and turning in a fitful sleep. He was too tired to be fully awake, but still too uncomfortable to slip into unconsciousness. The result left him hot, sweaty, tangled in a mess of blankets, and downright miserable. The sounds of the camp around him filtered in and out of his subconscious, turning reality into a horrifically vivid nightmare that he couldn’t quite shake. By the time he finally opened his eyes and forfeited the idea of getting any legitimate rest he’d seen Miles be eaten by a tree, Raven fly back into space, and Octavia turn into a spider. 

Overall? Not a great day. 

He rolled flat on his stomach, arms stretched out to the side, and nearly whined when he felt his dick hard and pinned against his hips.  _ Really??  _ He pressed his hips further into his pallet and turned his head to the side, staring blankly at the canvas of his tent. 

It was still daytime, although the harsh afternoon sun had faded to a warmer glow that turned the dark red fabric making up his walls into a hearty crimson. Grayscale shadows flickered by at random intervals, receding with varying footsteps crunching away on the dusty ground. 

A fair amount of delinquents milled about the camp, talking and laughing as if their life weren’t constantly in danger of being snuffed out like a poorly lit candle in a thunderstorm. 

Bellamy could hear bits and pieces of the conversations from where he laid huddled on his pallet. 

“Hey, Jasper! Did you--” then mumbling. 

A laugh. 

Something indecipherable then: “--you know what Clarke--” trailing off to more laughter. 

A loud clattering came from the other side of his tent. 

“Dammit, Wes! Watch your ass!”

A more muffled bang and shouting, followed by a shrill yell that sounded all too familiar. “ _ Hey! _ Knock it off!”

A mixture of mumbling and chuckles followed, and Bellamy rolled his eyes.  _ Typical teenagers.  _ He pressed his face against his blanket and sighed heavily. He was exhausted, but it wasn’t the fatigue that was wearing him down. Bellamy was used to being tired; he didn’t know the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep. But he felt like his body was actively turning on itself. He was hot yet cold, tired yet restless, and about as far from horny as humanly possible but still sporting a boner that could cut glass. 

He huffed a laugh.  _ Schrodinger's spider. If it bites you then you get to be two contradicting things at once. Perfect.  _

His dick twitched impatiently, pressing flat up against his stomach. He ground his hips lazily against his pallet, hoping to coax it back to normal.  _ Come on, leave me alone.  _ It responded it turn, sending barely noticeable glimmers of interest up his abdomen. 

It wasn’t enough. 

He flipped to his side and shoved his underwear back around his knees.  _ This time you better leave for good.  _ Bellamy wound his fingers around his dick, immediately jumping to a point that he knew would get him off, and fast. 

_ No messing around. Just get this done.  _ He fucked rhythmically into his hand, alternately tightening and loosening his grip in a pattern that he’d perfected years prior. It wasn’t necessarily something that Bellamy took pride in-- but it felt nice to be familiar with his own body. In the best situations, it led to some pretty incredible sex. But at the very least, he’d be able to save some time by getting off quickly and efficiently; which was definitely a priority when his head was spinning like a top and he still wasn’t entirely sure that his arm wouldn’t fall off. 

His thoughts were so scrambled that he could only manage brief fantasies:  The first girl he’d fucked on the ground. The feeling of her hands running down his sides, her mouth peppering across his chest, his lips brushing against hers. 

His hips bucked instinctively and he hissed between his teeth.  _ Good, keep going.  _

He thought about the one time he’d hooked up with a fellow cadet in a storage closet. It was just a few weeks before his mother was floated and everything went to hell. They were supposed to be standing guard outside of the Agriculture Wing, but in under an hour they’d devolved into a mess of roaming hands and open mouths. It wasn’t the first time that Bellamy had been with a guy, but it was definitely the best. He had the claw marks on his back for weeks to prove it. 

_ He was blonde. I’ve always had a thing for blondes…  _ He shifted his grip, cinching his fingers around the base of his dick, and imagined long blonde hair cascading over smooth shoulders. Feeling it brush over his bare chest. Grabbing fistfuls and pulling softly. Just barely. Just enough for her to feel it. 

His dick stuttered and he pumped harder. He imagined careful fingers running through his own hair. Down his back. Brushing his sides. Coming to rest on his thighs. 

Warmth pooled in his abdomen, and Bellamy’s hips jerked in response. He focused on the warmth. Warm hands. A warm smile. Warm lips closing firmly over the base of his dick as he ran his fingers through her hair. 

Her blonde hair. 

_ Fuck-- okay--  _ His breath caught in his chest and he reached for his spare t-shirt again, holding it at the ready in his free hand. His head tossed back and he let out a short gasp as he imagined her staring up at him through her lashes. Humming softly and making his breath catch even harder. Staring up at him playfully, amusement crinkling the corners of her bright blue eyes. 

He knew those eyes. 

_ Wait-- fuck--  _ Electricity shot up his spine as he came, barely holding himself together as every piece of him throbbed and pulsed in unison. He unloaded into the shirt, a partially formed name barely held back behind his lips. 

_ Clarke.  _

He groaned thickly, panting as he rode out the hot rush of his orgasm. It was remarkably similar to the previous time he came, only there was no pleasant warmth settling over his senses to drag him mercifully away from consciousness. Now everything throbbed and pulsed-- a common after-effect of coming so hard he felt like he’d damn near burst a blood vessel-- but it only amplified the pain radiating through his limbs. His muscles ached with an unsettling mix of fire and acid. A thin sheen of sweat spread over his chest and a spinning sensation had settled back behind his eyes. 

_ God I really don’t think that was a good idea.  _ He ran a hand over his face, trying to set his breathing back to normal, rolling defeatedly onto his side, only to jerk back when a stab of pain shot through his dick. 

“Fuck!” he hissed, unable to stop the grimace that twinged across his face. A heavy heat pressed on his chest and liquid ice ran through his veins. Everything pulsed and burned. And everything hurt. A lot.  _ What the hell is happening??  _

Bellamy exhaled shakily and clasped his hands over his face, trying to steady his breathing.  _ It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.  _

He let his eyes flutter shut and tried to breathe deeper, ignoring the constricting pull of terror winding in his chest.  _ Fear is a demon-- you can’t be afraid.  _

In less than a day, Bellamy’s body had effectively turned on him, and it showed no signs of stopping. This wasn’t some slow and steady illness with predictable symptoms and a casual resolution, like coming down with the flu. It wasn’t even a significantly more problematic dilemma, such as taking an ax to the head. This? This was a whole other beast, and it terrified him. 

_ Just breathe. Figure this out and breathe.  _ He wracked his brain for a plan of action, sifting through coarse gravel and acidic mud that coated and clogged the gears in his head, turning once useful thoughts into nothing more than grey tinted mush. When that predictably led to nothing more than frustration, he decided to start with the basics:

  1. He was very, _very_ sure that this wasn’t normal.
  2. It hurt. A lot. 
  3. It involved his dick, which was a whole other issue in itself. 



In the end, Bellamy didn’t really have much of a choice. He needed help. And, unfortunately for him, getting medical help on the ground meant one thing and one thing only: swallowing what little pride he had left, hobbling into the dropship, and seeing Clarke. 

_ This is gonna suck.  _

Before he changed his mind, Bellamy tenderly pulled his boxers back up, rocked to a sit, and started pulling on his pants. When it became painfully apparent that his fly wasn’t going to zip shut without him needing to do some sort of dick contortion (which was absolutely  _ not  _ happening at this point) he instead reluctantly folded his guard’s jacket over his tented boxers, pretended that the improvisation wasn’t ridiculously obvious, and swept out of his tent as fast as his venom-limp legs would carry him. 

The standard mid-evening bustle of camp swam before Bellamy’s eyes, quickly turning his blurred headache into something dangerously close to a migraine-induced hallucination. A cool breeze floated lazily through the air, pricking at the sweat plastering his hair and raising a new set of goosebumps across his skin. He distantly wished that he were actually wearing his jacket, instead of using it as a poor distraction from the fact that his dick apparently felt the need to set out and start a new life for itself, regardless of the social and biological consequences. 

A casual voice sounded at his side. “Hey, Bellamy--”

“ _ No-- _ ” he immediately cut off the owner without even bothering to make eye contact-- “Do not talk to me. Do not look at me.  _ Leave. _ ”

The smaller boy quickly dropped back with an apologetic mumble, leaving Bellamy to continue his pained stagger toward the dropship. Without further preamble, he strode wearily up the ramp, pushed aside the parachute fabric cover, and stepped into the sheltered room.

Clarke and Octavia were talking casually, with the older girl busily sorting through their meager supplies while Octavia sat cross-legged on top of the large metal table centering the room, fiddling with the handle of a knife Bellamy didn’t recognize. Both went dead silent as he entered the room, swaying slightly on the spot. 

“Shit…” Octavia’s hands stopped cold and her face twisted. “You look like hell.”

“Out--” he responded firmly, jabbing a finger at the entrance. 

“What? Bell, I was  _ kidding-- _ ”

“ _ Now, O!”  _

__ “Shit, fine…” Octavia dropped easily off the table, holding her hands up in mock surrender as she made her way out of the dropship. Despite her compliance, she still made sure to shoot him a death glare before dramatically rolling her eyes and grumbling just barely loud enough to hear, “dick…” 

Bellamy shut his eyes and groaned softly after she left.  _ Here comes the fun part…  _

Clarke was up on her feet now, arms crossed and eyes carefully burning a hole right through him. “Are you feeling okay, Bellamy?” she asked methodically. 

He could practically hear the gears turning in her head. “No, I’m definitely not okay--” he began, looking away nervously. There was no way he could have this conversation. He couldn’t do it. 

She stepped closer, maintaining a cool doctor-ly aura. Bless Clarke and her professionality.  “What’s wrong?” she said, watching him with a pinpoint stare.

“I have a-- a problem...” he began, gesturing unhelpfully with his free hand. “And I mean-- I  _ think  _ it’s related to the spider bite? It’s definitely not normal, that’s for sure...” he trailed off, voice wearing away into a reluctant whine. 

Clarke shot him a confused look. “You wanna be more specific?” 

Bellamy opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to find a starting point. Finally he stopped, dragging his free hand over his face and sighing heavily. “Just… don’t laugh…” And with that, he dropped the jacket concealing his junk and stared straight up at the ceiling, hands nervously grasping his hips. 

“Oh...” Clarke said, unusually quiet. 

That was it. His life was officially over. “Yeah,” he answered, trying desperately to ignore the hot flush creeping down his neck. 

She stepped carefully around him, deep in thought. “How long?”

Bellamy’s heart lurched in his chest. “What?!”

“--Time! I meant that time-wise--” she sighed and tried again-- “How long has it been like… this?” 

He let out a whoosh of air. “Uhh… six hours?” he estimated. 

Clarke stopped in her tracks. “Seriously??”

Bellamy finally took his eyes off the ceiling to shoot her a withering glare. “Do you think I’d be here otherwise?” 

She huffed a short laugh, then returned to pacing, eyes raking over every inch of his body. “Good point, although it’s still stupid _.”  _ She shot the last word at him with little venom, sparing a tiny smile in his direction. 

The corners of his mouth ticked up slightly in response. “I’ve gotta stay consistent, right?” 

That one brought out a snort from Clarke. “Well in  _ that  _ case…” she shook her head to herself, taking his arm in her hands and thumbing carefully over his pulse-point. He watched as she stared at the floor, mouth moving silently as she counted in her head. Somewhere, far in the back of Bellamy’s head, he realized that Clarke’s lips were pink. Bellamy decided that he liked pink. 

Clarke hummed softly, then frowned. “Your heart rate is still pretty elevated, but at least I’m not feeling any arrhythmias.” She dropped his arm and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, then his neck. “How are you feeling?” she asked distractedly, looking everywhere but his eyes. 

Bellamy did his best to steady his breathing and answer honestly. “I don’t know, a little better? Aside from… yknow…” 

She smiled again. “I figured.” Her hand shifted at his neck and she pressed carefully along his shoulder, his chest, his jawline. Her brow furrowed and she continued. “It’s weird, you don’t have a fever, but you almost feel hypothermic…” 

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

They stood there for a moment, quiet, Clarke winding her hand gently along the exposed skin at his collar, and Bellamy letting her. She hummed softly, a mixed sound of thought and concern. Then their eyes met, and the moment shattered into something else entirely. 

“Clarke?” he murmured softly. He couldn’t help it as the word slipped past his lips. 

She just kept staring, mouth open slightly. “I--” she began, voice stopping as she closed her eyes, shook her head, and took a step back. “Sorry,” she mumbled, sounding far from it. 

Bellamy let out a deep breath and shook his head placatingly. “--’s fine,” he muttered, eyes glued back on the floor. 

Clarke broke the silence first. “Well--” she began, clapping her hands together loosely. “I’m gonna need you to drop your pants.” 

Bellamy’s eyes shot back up and he opened his mouth in protest. 

She stopped him. “Look-- you and I both know that this has to happen for me to give you an accurate diagnosis. So, if we can both be adults about this…” she ended by gesturing awkwardly with both hands at Bellamy’s junk.

“Fine…” he mumbled, voice edging toward a whine, and pushed his pants off his hips, letting them fall slack to the floor. He threaded his thumbs loosely under the waistband to his boxers, shot Clarke one last reluctant look, then gently lifted them over his hard dick and pushed them to his knees. 

Across the room, he swore he heard Clarke let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” she said, far too calmly, far too softly, and stepped closer. She stopped a few feet away, then crouched down on her haunches, staring straight as his dick with a mechanical interest. “Are you in any pain?” she asked suddenly, staring up at him through her lashes.

Bellamy let out a short, nervous laugh, and tilted his head toward the ceiling.  _ God, there’s no way this is happening.  _ “Yeah,” he answered shortly, voice pulled tighter than a piano wire. 

She paused, let out a shaky breath. “Alright, lemme know if this hurts--”

“I already told you,  _ yes  _ it--  _ HOLY MOTHER OF-- _ ” he nearly jumped out of his skin as Clarke grasped the base of his dick with the pads of her fingers.

“Bellamy,” Clarke actually  _ scolded,  _ continuing the exam without bothering to look up, “like I said, this is all part of a medical exam. Did you think I’d be able to diagnose you just by staring at it?” she added, pulling his dick carefully downward. 

“No,” he huffed, staring back at the ceiling. A thick flush ran down the back of his neck. “Some warning would’ve-- yeah that hurts-- might’ve been nice…” 

Clarke hummed thoughtfully. “How about this?” She pushed it back upward with scientific precision. 

He nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah-- not as much as the first one-- but yeah it still hurts.” 

“How about this--” she pulled his dick to the side, then let it go, causing it to bounce back and forth painfully.

Bellamy jerked away from her reach-- “ _ Ow-- it’s not a fucking doorstop!”  _

Clarke looked up at him, the picture of innocence. “Sorry… So that’s a yes?”

He shot her one last suspicious glance before looking back up at the ceiling indignantly. “Yes, it’s clearly a yes!”

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully.

Bellamy let his gaze drift downward. “What.”

Clarke shook her head, deep in thought, then stood and made her way toward the exam table. “Nothing. You can pull your pants back up.” 

He stared at her curiously, but took advantage of the opportunity to preserve what little dignity remained and quickly pulled his boxers and pants up as far as they’d go, then covered himself back up with his jacket. All the while he watched as Clarke strode around the dropship, furiously preparing seemingly random supplies. Finally he couldn’t take the silence any longer. “So… what’s the verdict?” he began awkwardly. 

She looked up briefly from the amalgam of supplies. “Definitely priapism,” she diagnosed solemnly, then went back to stacking pads of gauze. 

He paused for a moment.  _ Am I missing something?  _ “Okay… which is…” he probed frustratedly. 

Clarke stopped sorting and sighed reluctantly.  _ That’s a new one.  _ Bellamy was suddenly a lot more worried than he’d been a moment prior.  “Priapism is basically a persistent erection, often in the absence of sexual stimulation. It’s caused by dysfunctional blood flow through the penis and is usually painful.”

Bellamy huffed irritatedly. “Tell me something I don’t know.” 

“Well… The treatment involves draining the excess blood via a hypodermic needle.” Clarke rattled the words off in a rush, refusing to make eye contact. 

Bellamy’s blood ran cold. “Clarke… Tell me the needle isn’t…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t.  _ There’s no way this is happening. This is some sick, venom induced dream and I’m going to wake up any second now--  _

Clarke’s face twisted sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Bellamy. I’d do my best to make it as painless as possible, but getting a needle directly into the source is really the only way to--” 

He cut her off, making his way unsteadily toward the door, “ _ No, absolutely fucking not-- _ ”

Her voice rang out over the haze of pain and fear bouncing around in his head. “If you don’t then you’ll lose it.” 

That stopped him in his tracks. 

She continued carefully. “You have a continuous erection because blood can’t flow out of… yknow… but that also means it’s not getting enough oxygen. And if this continues for too long then eventually… the tissues will be damaged and die.” 

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.”

_ Oh god, my dick’s gonna fall off.  _ “And if I stick it with a needle-- this  _ all  _ goes away?” he asked, nearing panic. 

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, after that it’s done. Everything goes back to working order.” 

He didn’t really have a choice, did he? “Fine, but  _ I’m  _ doing it,” he insisted. This whole situation had broken through six different layers of awkwardness; the last thing Bellamy needed was for Clarke freaking Griffin to stab him in the dick with a needle. 

The girl in question held her hands up placatingly. “Fine by me, it’s your body.” 

And so it was decided. As Clarke bustled throughout the dropship, preparing various medical supplies for the upcoming butchery, Bellamy sat impatiently on a cot in the corner, pointedly  _ not  _ resting, against Clarke’s recommendation. 

_ Just another day on the ground, my  _ ass _ …  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> \- Yep, giant needle to the dick is the medically correct way to cure priapism  
> \- I found this out by bluntly asking my great-Aunt (who was an RN) "Hey so I'm writing a story where a character gets a spider boner, any advice?" at a family function lol


	5. Improvisation Calls for Back-up

The next half hour was spent in a medical frenzy that left Bellamy’s head spinning. Piles of neatly folded gauze laid next to various mechanical instruments, most of which he couldn’t name. Some looked vaguely dangerous-- hooked or sharpened to points that seemed more indicative of weapons than medical tools-- but all of them quickly made their way to the top of Bellamy’s  _ ‘things I want nowhere near my dick’ _ mental list. Considering the upcoming procedure, he wasn’t feeling hopeful for his dick’s chances. 

“How’re you feeling?” Clarke asked, stopping in front of Bellamy’s corner with a box balanced carefully in her hands. Her eyes scanned quickly over his body and her lips turned down slightly in concern.

“Fine,” he lied bluntly. “Are those for me?” He gestured toward the stack of torture instruments, unsure if he wanted to know the answer. 

She shook her head. “No, I was trying to see if I could use any of their parts to make a hypodermic needle, but they were all too big.” 

Bellamy suppressed a shudder. “Well, on behalf of my dick,  _ thank you.  _ Besides, don’t we already have needles?”

“We do, but they’re for injections. Their gauge is way too small for drawing blood.” 

He eyed her carefully. “Meaning…”

“We’re gonna have to improvise a bit,” she admitted. “Luckily, I have an idea of who might be able to help us.” 

As if on queue, Raven swept dramatically through the parachute fabric cover the dropship entrance. “Someone ordered a genius?” 

“You told Raven?!” Bellamy hissed, adjusting the jacket across his… problem… more carefully. 

“Only that we need her help, Bellamy. The details are between you and me,” Clarke whispered back, before making her way over to Raven with a smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem, it’s not like it’s far,” Raven answered, fiddling with the torture instruments at the dropship table. “Hey, Bellamy,” she tossed him a nod in greeting, turning a particularly vicious instrument in her grasp. “I heard about you and that spider. Sucks.” 

Bellamy huffed a tired laugh. “You could say that again.”

“Sucks,” she repeated herself, grinning cheekily. “Anyway--” she turned back to Clarke, slapping the instrument onto the table with a sharp  _ clang.  _ “What can I do ya for?”

“Alright,” Clarke began, casually sweeping loose strands of hair out of her face. “Long story short: I need you to make a needle like this one, only bigger.” She held out one of the standard hypodermic needles that came with dropship’s first aid kit. “This needle is roughly 0.7mm across, but I need one that’s about 1.6mm, so a little more than twice what this one is. Think you can do that?”

Raven took the needle curiously, turning it in her grasp. “Oh definitely. There’s some finer pieces of circuitry from the launching mechanism of the dropship that I could  _ easily  _ turn into a needle around that size.” 

Clarke’s fingers twisted together absently. “Awesome-- great-- can you somehow replace the needle on that syringe with the new one, once you make it?”

“Hell yes I can,” Raven looked up with a firm nod. 

“Good. The sooner the better-- time is of the essence here.”

Bellamy twisted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to alleviate the feeling that his dick was living out its final moments. 

Raven shot him a subtle look before turning back to Clarke. “You got it. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

“Great. And Raven?” Clarke called out last second. 

“Yeah?” she stopped in her tracks, syringe grasped carefully in one hand. 

“Make it sharp.”

Raven nodded solemnly, then swept out of the dropship, along with Bellamy’s hopes that this was all one giant, hilariously unfunny, prank. 

“Still doing fine?” 

Bellamy shook his head loosely. “What?” 

Clarke gave him a sympathetic smile. “I was  _ going  _ to ask if you’re still feeling okay, but I think I just got my answer.” 

He sighed heavily, then let his head fall back against the wall of the dropship with a heavy  _ thunk _ . “This sucks.” 

“I’m sure,” she conceded, walking over and holding out a cup in his direction. “Drink.” 

He eyed it suspiciously. “Why?”

She let out a snort. “Not that I need to give you a reason to drink  _ water _ , but you’re probably still dehydrated from earlier.” 

_ She has a point.  _ “Fine,” he grumbled, taking the cup and quickly draining it, deliberately ignoring the knowing look Clarke shot in his direction. 

She kneeled down and gently pressed the back of her hand against Bellamy’s cheek, staring straight down at the floor, clearly deep in thought. “You still nauseous?” she asked, moving her hand to his forehead. 

He set the cup down, pretending that her touch didn’t make his heart skip a beat. “No,” he shook his head. “I think I got rid of all that earlier.”

Her eyebrows raised slightly and she moved to his wrist. “I heard. Octavia said that, and I quote, you ‘turned into a human fountain.’”

He rolled his eyes. “She can be a little dramatic.” 

Clarke smiled. “True, but in this case I think she was just worried about you.” 

Bellamy gave her an incredulous look. “Why? I’m not dying or anything.”

This time Clarke rolled her eyes. “Wow, Bellamy. I have  _ no idea  _ why your  _ sister  _ might actually care about you,” she said, words dripping with sarcasm. 

He paused, mouth hanging open, unable to form a snappy comeback. Eventually he settled on quietly grumbling, “Shut up…” before looking back toward the wall. 

She continued, barely concealing a smile, “Familial concern, what a novel concept…” 

He shot her a glare. “I wasn’t thinking about it, okay?”

“Fine, I’ll cut you some slack, but only ‘cause you’re sick,” she conceded, lips turning up slightly. “Otherwise, I’d verbally  _ own  _ your ass,” she added, standing up and moving toward her workstation. 

Bellamy scoffed. “Nuh uh, there’s no  _ way  _ you could beat me in whatever twisted debate you’ve concocted in your head.” He made to cross his arms but stopped short with a hiss when he brushed against his spider bite. 

“Don’t touch it, I’m going to change your dressing,” Clarke ordered distractedly, pointing at him without looking up. “So let me get this straight--” she focused back on their argument-- “I can’t even win the debates that are in  _ my own head _ ? That doesn’t seem very fair, Bellamy.” 

“What can I say, I’m just that good,” he commented with a false air of confidence that did very little to combat the fact that he felt-- and probably looked-- like he’d just been steamrolled then hung out to dry in the summer sun. 

“Oh I’m sure you are,” she conceded less than genuinely, and knelt back down by his side. “Hold out your arm.” 

He obeyed without protest, letting his head relax back against the wall. 

Clarke began gently peeling away the old dressing, pausing when he hissed softly. “You okay?” 

He nodded quickly and closed his eyes. “Yeah. Just stings.”

She hummed sympathetically, then continued unraveling the bandages. “I bet.” 

They continued in silence for a few moments before the dressing fell away entirely, leaving Bellamy’s raw arm open to the elements. Clarke rotated it carefully in her grasp, tapping her fingertips up and down the exposed flesh of his forearm. “The swelling’s gone down a bit,” she noted softly, then set his arm down about began winding a clean bandage around the wound. 

Bellamy let out a deep breath and opened his eyes, focusing intently on the pristine bandage as it covered up the ghastly bite engulfing his forearm. “So I get to keep my arm?” he asked, only half joking. 

Clarke finished the bandage with a quick knot and gave him a smile. “One appendage down, one to go, right?” 

He felt himself pale significantly at that. 

She leaned forward quickly, putting a hand on his wrist, “Hey, I was just kidding-- I  _ swear _ \--”

He steeled himself enough to shoot her yet another glare before staring back at the wall. “Hilarious,” he deadpanned, only feeling a little bad when she cringed. 

“Look at me, Bellamy,” she said, voice so unexpectedly serious that he immediately met her gaze. She held his hand firmly in her own and stared at him with an intensity that he couldn’t shake. “You’re going to be  _ fine _ . I’ll make sure of it, okay?” 

He nodded once and answered, soft. “Okay.”

“Good,” she said, a gentle smile breaking across her face for just a moment before turning into something more playful. “Besides, worst case scenario, it had a pretty good run, right?” she teased, nodding down toward his crotch. 

He rolled his eyes and let go of her hand, but wasn’t able to completely hide his smile as he grumbled, “Oh my god,” and ran a tired hand over his face.

Her grin cracked even wider as she collected old bandages in a loose bundle. “I’m just saying, mileage-wise, it’s not like you didn’t make good use of what you had--”

He shot her a withering glance. “I don’t see how that makes any difference.”

“Waste not, want not, Bellamy.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” 

A rapid figure swept into the dropship before Clarke could shoot back with another retort, coming to rest in front of her with a particularly sharp looking instrument. 

“I present to thee: the world’s most awful needle, patent pending, of course,” Raven announced to the room, holding out the needle for Clarke to inspect. 

Bellamy was pretty sure that in that exact moment his heart dropped out of his ass and fled for another planet entirely. His head spun wearily, a ringing clashed through his ears, and (ironically enough) a phantom pain spiked through his already-sore nether regions. 

Clarke took the device wordlessly, focusing intently on the tip. “What’s the internal diameter?” she asked without looking up.

“Around 1.6mm, like you asked,” Raven answered, staring at Bellamy pointedly. “Geez, you alright?”

He shook his head nervously, then covered his mouth with a hand.  _ Oh god, that thing’s going into my dick.  _ “No yeah, I’m good--” he shook his head and tried again-- “I’m fine. Just… God…” A wave of terror rolled down his spine as it vaguely occurred to him that the needle was roughly the same size as a pen cartridge. 

Raven turned and faced Clarke, arms crossed. “What’s wrong with Bellamy?” 

“He’s the one the needle’s going into,” Clarke explained bluntly, pushing and pulling the needle’s plunger carefully. “Does this work?”

“Of course it works,” Raven pulled a face, nearly insulted. “Is he going to be okay?” She jabbed a thumb in Bellamy’s direction, still not convinced. “He doesn’t look too good.”

“I’m  _ fine _ , Raven,” he grumbled.

Raven rolled her eyes. “Clearly.”

“He’ll be fine once we do this,” Clarke assured, clapping the mechanic on the shoulder before subtly shooing her toward the exit. “Thanks for the help, Raven. I can take it from here.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” she mumbled distractedly. “You sure you don’t need any help?” 

“Just make sure no one comes in here until we’re done. And I mean  _ no one,  _ not even Octavia, okay?” 

Raven nodded solemnly. “You got it. Good luck with… whatever you’re doing,” she gestured vaguely, then swept out of the dropship once more, leaving only Bellamy, Clarke, and a giant needle in her wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: 
> 
> \- While most needles used to give injections are around 22 gauge (roughly .70mm diameter) or smaller, the needles used in treating priapism are invariably 16 gauge (1.63mm in diameter) and therefore a _lot_ larger, as it has to be wide enough to drain blood at a reasonably fast rate


	6. Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But Oh God Needles Are So Much Worse

“Now that I’ve explained the procedure to you three times, are you  _ absolutely sure  _ that you still want to do this yourself?” Clarke asked, mouth pressed into a flat line and hands clasped tightly together as she sat on the stool across from Bellamy. “I could always help you, Bellamy.” 

He balked at that internally, but shook his doubts free and nodded firmly. “I’m completely sure,” he said, voice thick but strong. “If anyone’s gonna stab me in the dick, it’s gonna be me.” 

Clarke shot him a curious look, then frowned in agreement. “Can’t argue with that logic.” 

Bellamy just let out a whooshing breath and nodded again.  _ Just get it over with. Like ripping off a bandaid.  _ “Are we gonna start soon, or am I gonna have to sit here for an hour before we get this over with?” he hissed, a little more harsh than he intended. 

“If you really think you’re ready,” she responded, calm and measured, walking around him while carefully disinfecting the needle with a pad of alcohol-soaked gauze. 

“ _ Yes I’m ready--”  _ he practically growled, locked in a losing staring contest with the needle from hell, and straightened on the stool that they’d decided was the best place for him to “operate.” Seriously, this day could go straight to hell once he was done with it.  

Clarke shot him another glance and raised an eyebrow. 

Bellamy wilted slightly. “Look, I just want to get this over with, okay?” he whined, adjusting the pad of gauze over his naked lap. His pants and underwear had long since been discarded, leaving Bellamy with nothing more than an unfolded bandage to sit on top of and a small pad of gauze to cover himself for the time being. He’d never felt so naked in his life. 

“I know, I know,” she conceded gently, placing the needle onto a clean rag on the table. “And if you really are ready then I guess I can’t argue with that.” 

“I am, I swear,” Bellamy insisted, shifting in his seat. 

Clarke peered at him out of the corner of her eye as she poured alcohol onto a pad of gauze. “Tell me how you make the injection.” 

He rolled his eyes but answered anyway. “The injection site is at 2 o’clock on my dick, right into the center. Once it’s in I just hold it steady, then slowly draw out the blood until it’s flaccid again. That’s it, nice and simple.” 

“If you can call a procedure like this nice and simple,” she huffed and handed over the soaked gauze. “Here, disinfect the injection site.” 

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the gauze with a free hand and wiping it thoroughly over his dick, trying not to wince. “So, can we get this show on the road now or what?” he urged, trying to run with the adrenaline coursing through his veins before rationale got the better of him. 

Clarke gave him one last careful glance, then nodded. “Yeah, lets do this,” she agreed, grabbing the needle and holding it out to him plunger first. 

Bellamy let out a deep breath and took the needle with steady hands, rotating it carefully in his grasp. He wadded together the loose gauze in his free hand and held it to the side, barely noticing as Clarke took it from his grasp. Carefully (oh so carefully) he grabbed his dick with the palm of his hand, and positioned the needle accordingly. Ice cold terror shot through every single vein in his body, but Bellamy refused to let it flatten him. This wasn’t an option. It was either this, or have his dick necrotize and fall off like he was some kind of leprosy ridden zombie, and that was  _ not  _ happening. 

“That’s the right position,” Clarke murmured softly, bringing Bellamy back to the present moment. 

He nodded quickly, ignoring the pointed throbbing behind his eyes, and adjusted the needle in his grasp for a firmer grip.  _ Here goes nothing.  _ He let out a quick breath, felt his heart skip a beat, then stabbed the needle directly into the center of his dick. 

For a single isolated moment, there was nothing in the world but the horrifying realization that  _ oh god oh god oh god I stabbed myself in the dick oh god I aCTUALLY STABBED MYSELF IN THE DICK  _ before everything came crashing down and Bellamy screamed, hard. 

The scream rattled him to the core and he took a quick inhale before letting out another yell. “ **_FUCK!!_ ** ” 

“ _ OH GOD OH GOD ARE YOU OKAY?”  _ Clarke shouted frantically, running to his side, hands hovering as if she were afraid to touch him. 

“ _ NO I’M NOT FUCKING OKAY!!”  _ he shouted back incredulously, face twisted with pain. Warm blood shot up his arm in a gesture that sent a fresh roll of nausea straight through him.  _ Oh god oh god this was a terrible idea, I should’ve just let my dick fall off like nature intended.  _

“BELLAMY!” A third yell sounded to their side, and Bellamy turned deliriously to see someone that looked a lot like Octavia, standing in the threshold of the dropship. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes glued to the bloody mess in his lap. “OH  _ GOD _ , DID YOU CUT OFF YOUR DICK?!”

He opened his mouth in shock but was beaten to the punch by Clarke jolting to a stand. “GET OUT,” she commanded, voice terrifyingly low, pointing directly at the door. 

Octavia’s mouth hung open in shock, and she was ripped out of the dropship by Raven snatching her arm before she could utter another word. 

By this point, Bellamy was going through a completely different kind of shock. “Oh god oh god oh god oh god,” he whimpered, hands shaking violently, unable to look away from the needle buried in his dick. 

Clarke dropped down and quickly grabbed his hands in her own, steading the shaking rolling through them. “It’s okay,” she hushed calmly. “I’m gonna help you, okay?” 

Bellamy nodded and swallowed thickly, blinking back tears. 

Something in Clarke’s chest twisted. “I’m gonna hold the needle from now on, Bellamy. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah,” he choked out, breath hitching rapidly. 

“Good,” she reassured, gently prying the needle from his trembling fingers. “All you have to do is hold your dick steady, can you do that for me?”

He nodded again, holding onto his dick firmly with both hands. 

“That’s perfect, hold it there,” she murmured softly, beginning the process of drawing out the blood. 

“Okay,” he mumbled, voice steadying slightly. 

They stayed like that for a while, Clarke carefully drawing blood and Bellamy (even more carefully) holding his dick as still as his shaky hands would allow.  It was an incredibly tedious process, however, slowly but surely, the syringe in Clarke’s hands began to fill with dark red blood. 

“You’re doing great, Bellamy,” she said, hands unbelievably steady. “We’re almost halfway done, okay?” 

He nodded limply, voice beyond shot from screaming on the top of his lungs and the terror of the situation. Still, beneath the constant pumping of adrenaline through his veins, he could feel his heart rate returning to semi-normal levels. The unbearable searing pain through his dick had tapered down to a manageable throbbing. Even the overwhelming sensation of horror screaming from every fiber of his being had largely subsided, leaving mere discomfort in its wake. 

“Is this any better than before?” Clarke asked, lips turned down softly in concern. A wrinkle formed between her brows. Bellamy wished he could smooth it away. 

“Infinitely better,” he admitted honestly. He straightened his position and tried to relax further, careful to not jostle his dick. The trembling in his hands had almost subsided completely. 

She let out a breath. “Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

They fell back into silence. Both sets of hands had their respective jobs, working alongside one another. No one spoke, but no one needed to. There was nothing in the world except the task at hand and each other. The situation had flown so quickly into a level of intimacy that neither was prepared for, but still, here they were. 

Bellamy glanced down at their hands, only to realize that they were both coated with a thin layer of blood.  _ My blood.  _ He let out a breath and closed his eyes, trying to fend off the mixed feeling of nausea and discomfort. 

“You okay?” Clarke murmured softly. 

He nodded once, then steeled himself and opened his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just… not ideal.” 

She tilted her head slightly and gave a wry smile, but still didn’t look up. “To say the least,” she commented neutrally, despite her amused expression. 

He huffed a quiet laugh, then stopped when it caused a jolt of pain to shoot through him. 

Clarke’s face twisted sympathetically as he hissed through his teeth. “Ooh-- you okay?” 

He nodded quickly then let out a breath. “That was my bad, I should’ve known that would hurt.”

“In your defense, it’s not like they teach you this stuff in school.” 

Bellamy rolled his eyes, careful not to laugh again. 

More silence. Then Clarke shifted in her spot and spoke up. “It might go a little faster if you… yknow… massage it a little.” 

He looked at her, expression serious. “Yeah?”

She made eye contact for a moment before looking away, cheeks just barely tinted red. “Yeah, it-- uh-- it gets the blood flowing.” 

“Okay,” he answered simply, then started gently rolling his hands along the length of his dick. “Like this?” 

She watched for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, just like that.” 

Suddenly it felt like the syringe was filling up significantly faster than before. Tension began to lift away from his dick, and with it, the pain lessened with each passing second. 

Bellamy let out a sigh of relief and Clarke’s gaze flicked back up toward him. “Is it starting to feel better?” she asked. 

He nodded fervently. “Yeah, yeah that’s a lot better.” 

“Good,” she hummed softly, keeping a firm grip on the syringe. “Keep massaging it,” she added after a few moments passed. 

“Mkay,” he murmured, just as soft, and kept his hands moving. 

The minutes slipped by after that and the adrenaline finally melted away, rolling down Bellamy’s spine, leaving him, and his dick, blessedly flaccid. 

“I’m gonna take the needle out now, okay?” Clarke asked, as if he could  _ possibly  _ disagree with that decision. 

“By all means,” he commented, just a tad sarcastically. He unfolded his hands slightly so she could see better. 

“Thanks,” she said distractedly, leaning forward and grabbing Bellamy’s dick firmly with a pad of gauze and sliding the needle out, all in one fluid motion. The relief was instant, and Bellamy sighed heavily. “You can let go now,” she added softly, holding pressure against the injection site with both hands. 

He nodded limply and let his head fall back. “Oh my god…” he murmured, taking a moment to bask in the sweet sensation that was the absence of pain. 

Clarke smiled, holding the gauze firm in her grasp. “Feeling better?” 

Bellamy nodded again and looked forward, giving her an appreciative look. “So much better, holy shit. Thank you.”

She huffed a laugh at his wide expression. “Any time,” she teased coyly. 

He looked at her more seriously for a moment. “No, really.  _ Thank you, _ ” he said, trying to get even an ounce of his appreciation across. “I have no idea what I would’ve done without you.”

Clarke paused, and her expression fell into something softer, more genuine. “Glad I could help,” she said, eyes warm. Blue. Like the ocean on a still summer day and Bellamy had just learned how to swim. 

He returned her smile, taken aback by the warmth of her gaze. 

They stayed like that for just a moment, staring into each others’ eyes, before Clarke cleared her throat and looked down at her hands. Or rather, Bellamy’s dick, which was firmly wrapped in her grasp. “I think that’s about enough time that you won’t bleed out,” she commented loosely, then removed the gauze and stood, making her way toward her station. 

_ Of course.  _ Bellamy gave a short cough and looked toward the wall, running a hand across the back of his neck. “So…” 

“Here,” Clarke smiled down at him and handed over a damp pad of gauze. “Clean yourself off and then I think it’s about time you got some well-earned rest, don’t you?” 

He took the gauze appreciatively and began wiping smears of copper-tinted blood from his waist on down. “That’d be nice,” he agreed, trying to ignore just how much blood had spread across his legs. 

“I’m gonna make up your bed real quick-- yes, you’re sleeping in here this time--” she added before he could comment, “And then you can lay down, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, starting on cleaning off his other leg.

“Oh, and Bellamy?” 

“Yeah?” he asked, sitting up quicker than he’d like to admit. 

“Your boxers are on the table,” Clarke added, gesturing to the slip of fabric with a small smile. 

“Oh,” he stopped, then nodded and returned a half smile. “Thanks.”

Clarke nodded kindly in return, then swept out of the dropship with her pile of blood-soaked rags, and Bellamy went back to cleaning himself off, pretending he didn't wish that she'd stayed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts: 
> 
> \- I swear, I followed correct medical terminology as closely as I could for this chapter. Medical documents stated to "insert the needle at either 2 o'clock or 10 o'clock", so I opted for 2 o'clock since Bellamy is right-handed  
> \- I watched an actual real life video where someone got their dick drained prior to writing this chapter (the guy was given localized anesthesia, so the video wasn't _nearly_ as exciting as this chapter)


	7. Everything (Almost) Goes Back to Normal

Bellamy woke several hours later to the soft glow of candlelight and the distant smell of burnt meat. Outside the dropship, several voices mingled quietly, too soft to discern from one another but too noticeable to ignore completely. 

He stirred carefully, mentally taking stock of everything before waking fully. His rolled his arm tenderly, noting that it was still painful but definitely an improvement from the hours prior. 

Stretching his arms downward, he realized the a soft fur blanket, not unlike the one he kept in his tent, covered him from the waist down.  _ When did that get there?  _ He rolled onto his side, careful to keep his injured arm stretched in front of him, and sighed. It was warm, and quiet. Two things that were rare to find on the ground. And for just a moment, he was content to revel in it. 

A hand ran across his forehead, gently smoothing his hair before coming to rest at his temple. 

Bellamy hummed as a thumb traced softly across his brow. He was so close to falling asleep again. He felt the tendrils of exhaustion pulling him further and further from consciousness, but a tiny snippet of curiosity led him to open his eyes a crack instead. 

“Your fever’s going down,” Clarke murmured softly, then stroked his forehead one last time before sitting back and gently holding his wrist in her hand, taking his pulse with two fingers. She paused for a moment, looking to the side absentmindedly while counting in her head, and Bellamy just watched her. The soft glow of the candlelight made her already luminescent hair an even deeper shade of gold. She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in approval before huffing quietly to herself. “Your heartrate’s nearly back to normal too,” she said, breaking Bellamy from his reverie. “At this rate I’d say you’ll be able to go back to your tent in the morning,” she said, smiling at him genuinely. 

“That’s great, thank you,” he said, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from curling up in response. 

“See, all it took was a giant needle,” she teased, cuffing him lightly in the shoulder. 

“About that,” Bellamy started, pulling himself up to a sit.  _ Alright, here goes…  _  “Look, I’m really really sorry about… everything…” he said, swallowing down waterlogged nerves. 

“Wait-- hold on,” she stopped him with a soft hand to his chest, “If anything  _ I  _ should be apologizing to  _ you _ , since I’m the one who made you stab yourself in the dick with a 16 gauge needle, or are you forgetting?” 

“ _ No _ ,” he huffed shortly, “trust me, I’ll  _ never  _ forget about that.”

Clarke winced sympathetically before cracking another playful smile. “Hey, at least we saved your dick, right? That’s a victory for the world right there.” 

Bellamy shot her a curious look before raising an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh, is that so?” 

“Definitely,” she nodded sincerely. “I can see why so many girls like you.” 

“Yeah, but not you though,” he shot back before he could stop himself.  _ Oh god--  _

She stopped at that, staring at him curiously. 

His heart pounded in his throat. “Look-- I didn’t-- I don’t know why I said that--” he stammered, looking everywhere but into her eyes. He ran a hand across his face and sighed, wishing he could either go back 15 seconds into the past or throw himself head first off a cliff, whichever was easier at this point. “Can we just pretend that I didn’t--” 

“Hey--” Clarke cut him off, voice low. Soft. 

His gaze snapped up to hers, and for just a moment he was lost in a sea of deep blue.

In the next moment she was gently grabbing his face and bringing his lips to hers. She moved her lips so softly against his that Bellamy’s heart would’ve melted, if only it hadn’t stopped beating entirely. 

He just sat there, frozen, and she pulled away, letting one hand drop into her lap. The other gently cupped his cheek as her eyes quickly scanned his dumbstruck expression. Then, she smiled softly, letting her thumb trace feather-light across his cheekbone. “I do like you. And not just because I got to hold your dick,” she added playfully. “I like… you.” 

He couldn’t breathe. Out of everything that had happened in the past twelve hours, this  _ easily  _ rendered him the most speechless. It wasn’t even a contest. 

Clarke shuffled nervously, letting her hand drop away from his cheek. She looked away briefly and let out a short laugh. “I mean, if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. I get it--” she rambled, looking down at her hands. “It’s just-- life is short and I don’t think--”

Bellamy surged forward, grabbing her face in his hands and returning her kiss. Just as soft. Just as sweet. Only this time he was actively participating.

She hummed a note in surprise before leaning in closer, wrapping her hands in the vee of his shirt. He threaded this tips of his fingers through her hair. She ran her hands over his shoulders. Down his back. He ran the pads of his fingers across her scalp and she let out a short gasp. 

Then, just as quickly as they started, they broke apart, breathing heavily, leaning their foreheads against one another. 

“I like you too,” Bellamy said, deep and out of breath. 

Clarke huffed a breathy laugh. “I can tell.” She smiled, pressing a soft kiss against the spot behind his ear. 

The sound Bellamy made in response sent a flush down the back of his neck, but only made Clarke’s eyes flash with desire. Still, she pulled back and sighed, just as out of breath as Bellamy, and placed her hands on his cheeks instead. “As excited as I am for  _ this  _ to happen, I think we shouldn’t get you too riled up,” she shot a knowing glance toward his crotch.

“Oh…” he said, then shuddered as realization dawned on him.

“Yeah,” she laughed, patting him on the cheek goodnaturedly. “Besides, it wouldn’t kill you to sleep through the night for once,” she added, this time looking straight at him sternly. 

He rolled his eyes at that, then pulled a face and pushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “I  _ guess  _ I could manage that.” 

“Good boy,” Clarke nodded, sitting back to stand. Bellamy shot her a pointed look and she laughed. “Good  _ man _ ,” she amended, holding her hands up placatingly. 

“I’m an adult, Clarke,” he grumbled under his breath, laying back down disgruntledly. “I’m older than you, yknow,” he added as a soft blanket miraculously laid across his waist. Not that he was complaining. 

“I know,” she nodded sincerely. “You’re so old. Practically an old man.”

He rolled his eyes, fighting the fatigue that crept up on him from the rollercoaster of a day. “You know what I meant.” 

“Alright, you’re a young man, in the prime of your life” she conceded quietly, albeit unable to completely wipe the teasing from her tone. Bellamy could hear the smile on her face as he nodded in agreement, finally letting his eyes slide closed. “Get some rest, Bellamy,” she hushed, pushing his hair back softly. “Don’t worry, I’m still going to like you in the morning.” 

He couldn’t help the tiny smile that graced his face at her comment, but he was asleep before he could respond, pulled under by warm furs, gentle fingers, and a whisper soft voice, calling out just for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: 
> 
> \- I initially named this chapter "When One Dick Goes Flaccid, Another Dick Hardens", but decided against it because even _I_ need to chill out every once in a while 
> 
> \-----------------
> 
> Ohhhhh man guys, I hope you enjoyed this fic!! This is definitely one of those fics that I _still_ can't believe I actually freaking wrote, but as the tags state, I regret absolutely nothing ;) 
> 
> Extra special thanks to Steph (bellamyaugustus) for giving me the idea to write a fic where Bellamy gets an awkward boner! You got my crazy train rolling on this one, and I can't thank you enough for being there while I brainstormed and bounced endless ideas and plot twists off of you. You're amazing!! :)
> 
> Thank you to Eden (sassybellamyblake) and Miranda (drelllassassin) as well for being AMAZING friends and _also_ letting me throw bits and pieces of this fic at them at all hours of the day and night!! You are both incredible and as always I am so sorry for my lack of restraint when it comes to prematurely sharing my fics with you guys, I love you both!!  <3 <3
> 
> Lastly, thank YOU for reading this fic!! It was honestly such a blast to write, I hope you enjoyed all of the craziness that came with this rollercoaster of a tale :)
> 
> As always, feel free to leave kudos and comments as you wish! :)


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